Where Angels Fear to Tread
by the morrighan
Summary: This is a sequel to my Old West Vegas story Vegas Los Vegas Rancho. It is a story in three parts. This is the first part.
1. Chapter 1

Where Angels Fear to Tread

**Vegas. January 1886.**

"There's been another one."

Sheriff John Sheppard mulled over the unwelcome words as he slouched back in the chair. The saloon was dim, dusty, and full of cantankerous drinkers, gamblers and whores. In other words it suited him just fine. The steady susurration of conversations around him was lulling him into a pleasant doze. He had his long legs stretched out, his boots propped up on a chair across from him. Spangles of sunlight glinted on the silver spurs.

"Didja hear me, Sherriff? There's another one."

John scowled. He opened his eyes. His fingers brushed against the half-empty bottle of whiskey. He touched his empty glass. He had only had a few drinks before the unwelcome interruption. He tipped up his hat to reveal his handsome, scruffy face. His green eyes squinted against the sunlight as if unaccustomed to daylight. "Ya don't say?" he drawled.

Deputy Evan Lorne matched his boss's scowl with one of his own. He was accustomed to the sheriff's rather lackadaisical manner but at times it would get on his nerves like it was doing now. He hooked his thumbs into his gun belt. "I do say. Out yonder near the old mine. Same as the last one." He waited, but the sheriff hadn't moved. "You coming?" he prompted.

"Yeah." John straightened abruptly. He moved to his feet with alacrity, adjusted his gun belt and hat before following the deputy out of the saloon. "How long?" he asked, wrapping his coat around him to ward off the winter's chill.

"Jes a few hours accordin' to the doc. He's out there examining the body before we bring it into town. It ain't pretty."

"They never are."

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Along the line of the foothills a group of men were gathered, talking in disgruntled tones. All were grubby, clutching their rifles and muttering as they stood apart from where the body was sprawled in the newly fallen snow like some offering.

Doctor Carson Beckett was kneeling near it, shaking his head and shoving his hands into the pockets of his gray overcoat. There was little he could do here now. Still his keen blue eyes scanned the corpse, searching for clues as to the nature of the man's demise. Hearing a sudden cessation in the conversations behind him he moved to his feet, turning to see two men approaching.

"Doc," John greeted with a nod. His breath plumed out in the cold, cold air. He eyed the corpse as the doctor obligingly stepped aside for him.

"Just like the last one, sheriff," Carson informed. His Scottish burr was harsh in the winter chill. "Total exsanguination without any marks except for that curious one on the chest cavity with the addition of extreme and rapid aging. My best guess is that the time of death was sometime early this morning before sunrise."

"He was a miner. Richard Wright. He was only twenty," Evan added with a glance at the men gathered near. They were clutching their tools and their guns, watching.

"That's a hard twenty," John commented dourly. He let his gaze rake across the body.

"Sheriff! Whatcha gonna do about this?"

John turned at the irate voice. The other men were nearing, angry red faces confronting him, but John saw the fear in their eyes and that was more dangerous than any anger. "I'm gonna find out what's happenin' here. Any of you see anything?"

"No. We were in separate camps, spread out to mine what's left. We found him like that this morning," one answered. There were nods of assent in the group.

"We didn't hear nothing either," one added.

"It ain't natural," another stated. His words froze on the air, making the long shadows of the hills appear darker and more threatening. A wind whistled low through the scrubby pines.

"I am certain there is a scientific explanation for all of this," Carson assured, keeping his own bafflement to himself. "But I can tell you it is no disease or contagion."

"Then what did that? And don't tell me it was a mountain lion!" one challenged, shaking his gun.

"Tweren't no bear either!" another stated. An ugly mood was festering among the men.

With a graceful yet tense move John flicked back one side of his long black coat to reveal his own gun holstered at his thigh. The motion was enough to still the men's outrage. The sheriff's proficiency with the weapon was well known. "We'll find out what did this and deal with the—"

"And it ain't no man either! It's not of this world, sheriff!" The men muttered in agreement, crossing themselves nervously.

"The Devil's come to town," one added.

"Stop that!" John ordered sternly. "It ain't no devil whatever it is. I won't have you spreading talk like that to upset people. We will find whoever or whatever did this and put it down."

"Like you done so far, sheriff?" one sneered.

John frowned. His fingers played across the hilt of his Colt. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Bates. Now git outta here and be about your business! GO!" he bellowed. As the men dispersed he turned to Evan. "Let's get this loaded up on the cart and back to town. Doc, give us a hand here, will ya?"

"Those men are right, sheriff," Carson said as the men moved to lift the body. "No animal did this. Certainly no man did."

"Then what did? The Devil?" John sneered.

Evan crossed himself, glancing around the shadows. "Whatever it was, those men are right. It ain't natural." He looked up to see an owl watching them, silent and almost invisible in the trees.

"Whatever it is we gotta hunt it down." John stepped away from the body. Something had caught his eye in the snow. Amid the trampled footprints of the men who had found the body there was a faint, faint track. The tracks were almost lost amid the new snowfall that led away from the body and into the hills. One small, small drop of blood marred the white; a circle of crimson amid the snow.

John squatted to view the tracks. They were ordinary; boot tracks that could have been anyone, any man…but were definitely human. He squinted against the brightness of the snow to view the hills beyond, the pine trees that shadowed all in gloom and secrecy. Anything could be hiding in there, or anyone.

He followed the tracks, walking carefully next to them. His feet sank heavily into the newly fallen snow. He shoved his bare hands into the pockets of his heavy coat. His breath plumed in the air as he began a gradual ascent. He stepped past abandoned mining equipment; the remains of a tent; a rifle broken in two; the remains of a banked fire.

He reached a stream. It was mostly frozen but some water had thawed to course speedily across the rocks and twigs. It was wide enough that John would have to step on the rocks to cross it. He noticed that the snow on the rocks was untouched. Yet the tracks continued on the other side of the river, a clear but fading line in a smooth motion, as if whoever had left them had either stepped across the river or jumped across it without breaking stride.

John stepped on the rocks and crossed the river. He resumed following the tracks as his sense of unease was growing. His fingers played across the hilt of his gun. Its weight was reassuring as was the touch of cold steel.

He paused. The old mine rose ahead of him. It was a like a black mouth in the hills waiting to devour him. Most of the gold and silver had been excavated years ago and the mine was mostly tapped out, but there were always hardy and desperate souls who chanced their luck every year. The entrance had been shored up with timber and was limned with frost like a cadaver's teeth. Long icicles hung above it, shining blue when the sun caressed them.

John wondered what could be lurking in that blackness.

He blinked. For a moment he thought he saw a flash of gold, or silver, like the eyes of an animal catching the light, but then it was gone and John assumed it was an illusion of the sun on the snow or his own imagination.

There wasn't a sound. It was utterly still and silent, cold as the grave and not even the slight breeze made a noise in the pine trees. He couldn't even hear the faint burbling of the river behind him. A shiver coursed up his back.

Normally John was not a religious man. Nevertheless his fingers dug in deep to his pocket to finger a small cross that was always there. He could have sworn he was being watched.

"Sheriff! You ready?"

John nearly jumped at the voice. He turned to see Evan a few feet away, eying him quizzically. "Yeah." With a shrug he glanced at the mine again, turned and headed back towards the scene of the crime.

He shrugged off the feeling of eyes on his back, attributing it to the spooky location.

He didn't glance back.

He didn't see the reflection of the face in the icicles.


	2. Chapter 2

Where Angels Fear to Tread2

The shrieks of children brought Moira Sumner to her feet, but she wasn't alarmed. She moved to the window to see her recently released charges playing in the newly fallen snow. Balls of snow were flying back and forth as the children fought a friendly war. Free from their lessons yet loathe to return to their homes they littered the schoolyard with shouts and snowballs.

Satisfied she returned to her desk and resumed reading the correspondence she had been perusing before the interruption.

"Moira! Have you heard the news?" Katie Brown entered the schoolroom. Her pretty face was flushed from the chill and the excitement as she made her way up the aisle towards her friend. Snow followed after her; a slushy trail as it fell off her long brown coat and skirts.

"What news?" Moira asked, moving to her feet and putting the letter aside again.

Katie answered in a hush, as if reluctant to disturb the quiet of the schoolroom. "There's been another murder, this time up near the old mines. They just brought the body to town. They are calling it an animal attack but there's talk that it's something else."

Moira stared, correspondence forgotten. "Another one." She glanced out the window to see the children dispersing. Their laughter hung on the chill air. "Did you see Doctor Beckett?"

"Yes. He was with Deputy Lorne and Sheriff Sheppard. Moira, what do you make of it all?"

The touch of Katie's hand brought Moira back to herself and she met her friend's gaze. "I do not know." She glanced at her desk, frowning. "I think we need help with this."

"Help? You mean from the law?"

"No. I mean from a scientist."

"A scientist? How could a scientist help?" Katie asked.

Moira quickly returned to her desk and began to add to her letter, hastily scribbling a few lines on the last page. "He knows more than any of us, and I believe he would be a great asset to this investigation, providing he will consent to help us, that is." She lifted the letter, fanning it about to let the ink dry before folding it and placing it in an envelope.

"And you think this scientist will prevail where our own lawmen have not?" Katie asked.

"Possibly. At the very least he will be able to aid them." She addressed the envelope and gathered her papers and books into a satchel. She wrapped her black shawl over her black dress. "Shall we? I need to make a quick stop at the post office."

"Are you sure? I mean, well, the last time the Postmistress saw you were corresponding with a gentleman friend she was…" Katie left the rest unsaid.

Moira shrugged. "I haven't done anything improper by exchanging correspondence with a friend." She hid her quick smile when she thought of some rather improper things that she had been doing with a certain man.

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Carson sighed. He moved to a basin and washed his hands, shaking his head as he did so. "Just like the first one. There's nothing more to it. All of the internal organs have shrunken and been drained of all fluids. But that wouldn't cause the rapid aging. Honestly I have no idea what we have here."

"Maybe those old miners were right," Evan suggested. He glanced at the horribly emaciated corpse before Carson covered it with a blanket. "I'm just sayin' if we can't explain this by any conventional means…"

"It weren't no ghost or phantom," John argued. "I saw boot tracks, and only humans leave boot tracks."

"And how could a human do that?" Evan challenged, pointing at the covered corpse.

Both men eyed Carson. The doctor shrugged. "As I said, I have no idea. Apart from those curious marks on the chest there are no puncture wounds anywhere, so that rules out a syringe."

"And vampires," Evan muttered. He shrugged as John glared at him. "Sorry."

"I will do more tests, but I'm afraid that this is beyond me." Carson sighed. "You can rest assured it is no pathogen, however. Something or someone is out there doing this."

"I'll find it, whatever the hell it is," John vowed.

"And then?"

John met his deputy's gaze. "And then I will kill it."

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It was snowing again. Moira sighed, bundling up against the cold blasts of air that sent the white snow swirling onto her black clothes. She adjusted her bonnet, peering across the street. Raucous sounds were emitting from the saloon; boisterous voices and music and drunken laughter. Moira kept to the quieter side of the road, quickly walking through the falling snow towards her destination.

She kept her head down, trying to shield her face from the flurry of snow assailing her. She swerved past people who muttered civilities in passing. Her satchel was heavy and smacked against her hip as she traveled, almost reaching her destination until a hand stayed her.

"Mrs. Sumner?"

Moira lifted her face to see the concerned look of Evan. He freed her elbow as his blue eyes perused her. "Deputy? Was there something you needed? I am in rather a hurry to complete an errand before journeying home."

"I won't detain you. I shall escort you," he offered with a winning smile. He gestured, and Moira resumed walking, suppressing a sigh. "The reason I approached you was in fact about this storm, and whether or not you have ample provisions for it."

"I am fine, thank you, deputy," she replied.

"The thing is, Mrs. Sumner, there's been another murder and I don't think you are very safe out there on your own," Evan persisted, catching her elbow again but Moira deftly freed herself. "I'm just concerned, is all, with you being all the way out there on your own and all."

Moira smiled. "I can assure you, Mr. Lorne, I am fine out there. I have plenty of supplies and I have protection. I thank you for your concern. I must get these errands run before I leave town. Excuse me." She moved past him and into the general store.

Evan nodded, watching her until she disappeared from view.

He hated being dismissed, however politely.

Especially by a woman.

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John tipped his hat back, scowling. He downed the whiskey in one quick swallow as he turned to view the storm outside the saloon. The double doors were swinging with the wind, creaking like a broken tree bough and sending showers of snow into the crowded building. Feeling a hand on his arm he turned to see a beautiful woman smiling at him.

Elizabeth Weir let her gaze wander all over the sheriff's long, lean form before meeting his gaze again. "Care to enjoy the accommodations of my place tonight, sheriff?" She sidled up next to him, pressing her bosom to his arm. "I'm sure that any of my girls or even myself would be more than accommodating. In fact you've been absent for quite some time."

John smiled, deftly stepping so that there was some space between them. "I've got my own arrangements, but I thank you kindly, Lizzie, for the generous invitation."

"Your own arrangements?" She tilted her head, puzzled but still flirting at the same time. "Care to tell me if there's another establishment in town?"

"Nah…nothing like that. You'd best move on to more profitable clientele."

Elizabeth sighed, seeing his mind was made up. "If that's how you want it, sheriff. Just remember my door is always open for you…among other things." She winked at him and strolled down the bar towards another potential customer.

John snorted a laugh. He pulled down his hat and checked his gun. He wrapped his long black coat around himself and nodded at the barkeep before heading out into the snowy night.


	3. Chapter 3

Where Angels Fear to Tread3

John sat back from the table. The meal had been satisfying, more than satisfying and he licked his lips to savor the fading taste of the stew. He watched as Moira puttered around the kitchen, cleaning the plates and efficiently wrapping up the rest of the bread. The light from the kerosene lamps created a shadow of her form that followed and followed her, two women clad in black.

A woman widowed by the man who now sat at her table.

The wind whistled mournfully outside, snaking around the solid house. The windows were firmly shuttered against the storm. Already piles of snow were forming up along one side, and John pondered how long it would take him to clear a path to the barn. In the other room he could hear the fire crackling with the fresh logs he had chopped that week.

"John." Moira turned to him. She had a serious expression on her face. Strands of her brown hair were escaping her bun as she stepped to the table and grasped the chair back in front of her. "I…I took a, a liberty."

John gave her a slow, slow smile as he tipped backwards in his chair. "Did you now, Moira? Well, I am planning to take a few liberties of my own this evening."

Moira smiled as he tilted his head, winking at her. "John!" She sobered, fingers curling round the chair back. "I…I took the liberty of inviting Doctor McKay back to town. He was so very helpful the last time, and I believe if anyone can shed some light on these bizarre killings it would be him. He is a scientist, after all, and has had experience with strange things like this." He was silent. "John?"

Moira watched as his affable, warm expression changed to annoyance. He straightened in the chair. His green eyes were still warm, but revealing his ire which somehow only made him that much more attractive. Moira wasn't afraid of his anger, however. She knew that John would never raise a hand to her, unlike her recently deceased husband.

"Did you now?"

"Yes. I know you believe I acted precipitously but I thought it best to—"

"Yes, you did, Moira! I don't need no full of himself scientist to help me catch this fella! And yes," John continued, abruptly moving to his feet, "it is a man as only a man can leave boot tracks in the snow leading away from the crime! So no, I don't need no scientist or shaman or God knows what else to catch a killer! I don't take it kindly that you interfered in my business!"

Moira frowned at him. "I did not interfere, sheriff! I was only doing what you are too pig-headed to do for yourself!"

"And what is that, exactly?" he asked, stepping round the table to stand close to her. He towered over her but she wasn't intimated.

Moira met his gaze defiantly. "To ask for help."

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"I could use some bloody help," Carson muttered as he sat at the bar. He downed another whiskey and sighed, rubbing his scruffy chin.

"I don't think the answer's in there, doc." Evan moved the half-empty bottle out of his reach.

"Leave it be!" Carson snatched the bottle back. He rubbed his eyes, met the concerned gaze of the deputy. "Sorry, lad. I've been over this for hours and I still canna find an answer. How could a body, nay, two bodies be drained of all fluids and rapidly aged? It shouldn't be medically possible!"

Evan blinked as Carson's Scottish brogue became more pronounced. He shrugged. "I don't know either…but there's talk."

"There's always talk, laddie! What we need are facts!" Carson slammed his palm on the bar for emphasis. There were murmurs of agreement around him.

"And we'll get them, believe me," Evan assured, raising his voice to encompass the crowd. He wondered were the sheriff was at this hour. Normally it was his duty to contain the townsfolk and render reassurances. "You all keep to your homesteads tonight and don't go wandering out," he instructed.

"We've heard talk, deputy. The Indians say it ain't no man."

"It's a bear," offered another.

"It wasn't a bear! It's some kind of monster!"

"It's the Devil himself, come to punish us for our sins!"

"It's that Sasquatch fella come calling to take us all to hell," another muttered.

"It's the Injuns planning to scalp us all in our beds!"

"Enough!" Evan shouted over the rising cacophony. "Whatever it is we will catch it! Just keep to your homes or in town and don't go venturing outside this night! As long as we stay close we'll be safe! Don't go spreading rumors or stories like that! You'll frighten the women and the children of this town and we don't want that, now do we? As long as we are in town we are safe!"

"For how long?" Carson muttered. Many echoed his sentiments and the mood was quietly dour. Even the piano music was off-key and mournful.

Evan eyed the doctor. "Don't stay here all night, doc. The answer ain't in that bottle."

"Then where the bloody hell is it?" Carson snapped. He sighed. "Sorry, Evan. It's been a long day."

"I know that, doc. We'll figure this one out," Evan assured. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather be at home now?"

"Don't you worry, laddie, I'll be fine. Go on with you now!" Carson smiled, looking past him to see a lovely blond woman eying him.

Evan smirked. He touched the brim of his hat and set out into the night.

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"When did go?"

Moira sighed, smacked John's arm as they sat side by side on the settee. The fire blazed in front of them, filling the air with the scent of wood. "Wendigo," she corrected. "Look. I found this old legend in a book about the beliefs of the Indians that once lived here and there's a legend of a creature that was once a man, but starvation turned it to something else. It is a creature that stalks during the winter with an all-consuming hunger that can never be satisfied. It craves the taste of human flesh and is—"

"Ghost stories." John shut the book and tossed it aside after a glance at the illustration. The drawing was of a tall, elongated, skeletal figure with sharp teeth and claws. He smiled as Moira glared at him. He touched her cheek. He ran his fingers up to free her long hair from the bun restricting the brown strands.

"John, there is always a kernel of truth in the legends," Moira scolded, but his touch was gentle and alluring. The firelight played lovingly over the strong contours of his handsome face, making the shadow of his stubble darker. The motion of his calloused fingers through her hair was soothing and exciting at the same time.

"It isn't a legend, Moy. It's a flesh and blood man, and I will catch him, never fear."

"The manner of the murders suggests something else, John, if not a ghost something else, perhaps some kind of creature that we have yet to encounter. Scientists are discovering new forms of life every day and new species that were once only thought to be the stuff of legends and stories! If the—"

"Moira! Enough of this!" He gently tugged her hair then kissed her. "You can discuss your theories with the fancy man when he arrives, all right?"

She scowled, pushing at his chest as he moved closer, closer, intentions all too obvious now. One hand slid up to cup a breast as his thigh pressed against hers. "Don't you dare discount me, John! I won't have you ride off after something when you don't even know what it is!"

"I would never discount you, sweetheart," he soothed, seeing a genuine hurt in her brown eyes. "I can't ride off after a ghost or a, what did you call it? A when did go, now can I? But I can ride off after a crazed murderer. That's my job."

"You…" Moira didn't know what to say. She sighed, fingers moving nervously along his chest, popping open the buttons of his red flannel shirt. Passion was vying with concern, leaving her both flustered and impatient. "I just…John…"

John smiled. He lifted her face to his and kissed her again, savoring the taste of her lips and the teasing warmth of her mouth. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll be fine, just fine. Now let's put all of this aside and enjoy the evening."


	4. Chapter 4

Where Angels Fear to Tread4

It hungered.

The hunger was constant. It was a painful pressure that never went away, except during those brief moments when it was sated. But it would always return, this hunger, this craving that could only be satisfied by a human victim.

The hunger tore through its body like a living thing, and it had to be answered. It had to be obeyed despite the increasing danger of doing so.

The hunger would not be denied.

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John would not be denied.

He grunted as sexual pleasure assailed him. He was taking his time, enjoying the feel of Moira's squirming body beneath his; enjoying her soft sounds of surrender and need; enjoying the play of firelight that turned her long brown hair into enticing shades of red. He slid along Moira's yielding curves, tasting and teasing and indulging until he couldn't hold back any longer.

John savored every bit of her flesh with sensual delight.

Moira arched, crying out John's name in ecstatic joy as pleasure inundated her. She fell back, breathless, nails scraping along his bare back which only seemed to arouse him into more passionate activity. The firelight gleamed over his long, lean body, highlighting flexing muscles and making beads of sweat sparkle. Silver hairs glinted in his dark chest hair.

Moira lifted to lick the sweat, to savor the taste of this man who was giving her so much pleasure.

John fell upon her with a groan as the last of his energy was spent. He rested a moment, closing his eyes as Moira gently stroked his back. "Moira," he said low, possessively.

Moira ran soft kisses along his brow, shifting slightly. "John. Oh John."

He smiled smugly, hearing her love, her satisfaction. He knew it had never been like this with her husband; in fact he was fairly certain she had never had a climax before John had become her lover. He lifted to view her face. He brushed strands of her glorious hair from her rosy cheek. "Moy. This is how it's supposed to be. Between a man and a woman, I mean."

She smiled, caressing his arm. "As long as the man is you, you mean."

He chuckled. "Yep." He kissed her. Kiss after kiss, soft and slow to ignite more passion between them until a knock sounded on the door.

John looked towards the door, even as Moira scrambled out from under him. "Who the hell could that be?" he asked, annoyed.

"I..I don't know…I…" Moira was blushing and scrambling into her clothes.

The knock repeated. "Mrs. Sumner? Mrs. Sumner, don't be alarmed. It's Deputy Lorne!"

"Lorne? What the hell is he doing here?" John wondered.

"I don't know! Get your clothes on and stay right there!" Moira quickly smoothed down her black skirts and hastily tied her long hair behind her. "I'm coming, deputy! Just give me a moment!" she called, quickly crossing to the front room. Her fingers flew over the buttons of her blouse, expertly fastening them in order.

She opened the door. Evan stood silhouetted against the snowstorm like some dark avenger. He smiled at her, doffing his hat. "Ma'am. Aren't you gonna invite me in?"

"Oh, of course. Sorry. Please." Moira stepped aside for Evan to enter. She was flustered, nervous with a visitor this late in the evening, and especially right after she had been enjoying carnal delights with the sheriff. She could still feel the warmth of his body along hers. She could still feel the tender intimacies they had shared. She eyed the snow Evan was trailing onto the floor as she shut the door against the cold. "May I ask what brings you out here at this late hour, deputy?"

"You." Evan was staring at her. The black dress looked softer, clinging to her curves. Her hair was messily tied behind her. Her face was rosy, her eyes bright as she met his gaze. "That is to say I was concerned, Mrs. Sumner, with you being all alone out here. I took it upon myself to make certain you are well and safe and protected from both the elements and the madman out there." He began to remove his coat.

"Excuse me, deputy, but there's no need for you to stay. I do thank you for your concern, but I am fine as you can see. You had best return to town before the storm gets any worse."

Evan smiled at her. He hung his coat on the rack. "I don't mind staying the night."

Moira frowned. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You presume too far, sir. Kindly take your leave."

Evan took a step towards her. "Do I presume too far, Mrs. Sumner? You can't make me leave if I don't want to leave."

She faltered, surprised by his tone, by the way he was looking at her. She swallowed, at a loss for words. She was used to men bullying her in this fashion, and far worse. The behavior was still shocking, coming from this man whom she had considered to be a friend.

"She can't, but I can."

Both whirled at the words.

John sauntered towards them, casually buttoning his red flannel shirt. The holster was empty as it lay against his thigh, against the hastily pulled on pants but the threat in his voice was enough.

Evan stared, dumbfounded. It couldn't have been any clearer if John had shouted the words. The way he strolled into the room; the way he was carelessly buttoning up his shirt that had been obviously pulled on very recently; the way his gaze moved to Moira and raked over her with both possessive arrogance and lewd interest.

Moira's arms dropped to her sides. She twisted her fingers together. "I…that is to say the, the sheriff kindly checked, checked up on me and…"

John stepped to her. He touched her arm. "Some coffee would be more than welcome."

Moira met his gaze. She nodded, quickly exited the room, grateful for the escape.

"Sheriff? I…I mean…I…"

John met his gaze. All warmth was gone and his green eyes were as hard as diamonds. "I don't have to say it, do I? But I will so there's no confusion or misunderstandin' here. I am courting Moira Sumner so there's no need for you to check up on her. Take my meaning?"

"You…but you killed her husband!" Evan blurted. He was shocked. He was jealous.

"I did…that sonuvabitch beat her. We're keeping this quiet like, so I would appreciate it if you kept this to yourself. Understand me? Now I suggest you be on your way."

"You…you are more than, than courting her! You've taken up with her!" Evan accused, blue eyes widening in surprise.

John was silent. He eyed the door. He eyed the deputy. He took a single step towards the other man. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Without a word Evan snatched his coat and stalked out of the house.

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It hungered.

It stood in the shadows, a dark figure hidden by the swath of night and gloom. Snow swirled all around it, glinting flakes of white that sparkled in the lights from the house. The white was too revealing so it hid in the darkness, waiting.

Shivers coursed up and down its back and it huddled like an animal. It would have to feed soon to replenish its strength and vitality.

It watched the man emerge from the house, wrapping his coat around him before the wind tore it out of his hands. He pressed his hat firmly to his head.

It watched the man mount his nervous horse and ride slowly away from the horse, into the storm.

It followed.


	5. Chapter 5

Where Angels Fear to Tread5

"What the hell was that?"

John turned at the irate female voice. Moira was glaring at him. She stood, hands on her hips. Her brown eyes were full of fury and her long hair was a glorious cascade around her. John smiled, aroused. "What?" His tone was mild and infuriating.

"What the hell was that?" Moira repeated, stepping towards him. "You presume too far, Mr. Sheppard! Get out of my house now! You have no rights here and you had no right to flaunt our, our relations in such a bold manner! Do you have any idea what you have done? If word of this gets out I will be shunned in town! I will lose my teaching position! The scandal that will erupt will cause me to lose my income, all from your smug and brazen bragging!"

John kept smiling. She was almost pretty in her anger, brown eyes sparkling, rosy lips in a hard line, breasts heaving under the black blouse. Her Irish accent was more pronounced, a musical lilt in her voice that was alluring and charming. Her anger was making his lower body quite excited and his pants were becoming too tight. He licked his lips.

Moira stepped to him and hit his arm. "John! Have you nothing to say to me? Have you no apology for your wanton behavior and thoughtless actions?"

John touched her arm. He let his fingers slid down to grasp her hand. "Let's get to bed, Moy."

"John!" Moira protested, even as she let him lead her towards the back of the house where the bedroom was. "I don't think you understand the implications of your precipitous actions!"

John snorted. "I think I shouldn't be courting a schoolmarm. All those big words give me a headache."

"John!" Moira laughed, unable to be angry with him for long. She freed her hand as he turned to her and smiled.

"Don't you worry, sweetheart. Lorne won't say a thing. Trust me."

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It stalked.

The man was having difficulty traveling through the snow, and had dismounted to lead his horse through the treacherous terrain of snowdrifts and gullies. The man was a black dot amid the swirling whiteness of the world, but he was easy to track and the trail he left made it easier to follow him.

It felt the cold. The cold was a biting chill that ached, but not as much as the hunger ached within it. The hunger was insatiable, insistent, and had to be obeyed. The harsh elements were only an impediment to this horribly demanding sensation that needed to be filled.

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Moira was lost in a smothering blaze of passion. She didn't fight it; in fact she relished every moment of it. She sighed at every touch from John's calloused fingers. She moaned at every flick of his tongue across her skin. She whimpered at every nibble of his mouth along her breasts or her pelvis. She exulted in the abrasive scratch of his stubble and the sudden penetration of his cock as he repeatedly filled her.

Never had surrender been so sweet or so brazenly erotic.

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It was lost.

It scrambled through the snow as panic assailed it and the hunger gnawed at its gut like a living entity. But at last it caught sight of the man ahead of it, struggling through the snow. It followed in his footsteps, silent and lethal.

The wind moaned and sent a wave of snow to block it, but it pushed through, determined.

Never had the hunt been so desperate or so determined.

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John groaned, indulging in more aggressive intimacies. He would never hurt Moira, however. He gave in to his own hungers, driving into her faster and harder but he always cognizant of her pleasure and trust as well as his own. The brass headboard was slamming against the wall now with each thrust and he shuddered with the passion that was about to erupt into a wave of release for him.

He held her hands against the bed, pinning her as his body pinned her and penetrated, penetrated, seeking to fulfill the craving.

He couldn't get enough. He could never get enough until the last of his need was drained dry.

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It groaned.

The sound escaped its lips as did some saliva. It was close now, so close. The man had stopped and entered a barn, seeking shelter from the storm and abandoning his journey towards the town.

It neared slowly. The horse was long gone, having bolted as the animal had sensed the predator in its midst. The man was not so aware, and would be an easy meal.

It could never get enough. It could never get enough until the hunger was finally sated.

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Finally the passion peaked and John grunted his release. Moira followed quickly, crying out as the orgasm spiraled wildly with his motions.

They were inarticulate; two bodies locked in the vital throes of passion culminating in a purely physical jolt of pleasure.

Pleasure.

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It stealthy entered the barn. It kept to the shadows, nearing steadily.

The man was hunched over a tiny fire he had started. He was rubbing his hands together in a vain attempt to keep them warm. A sudden noise made him whirl, staring round the gloom of the abandoned barn. He could see nothing at first as shadows melted into shadows and the darkness became one.

His eyes widened as he saw what was heading for him.

Puzzlement and suspicion turned to alarm and then fear.

Fear.

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John fell upon her, drained and happy. He shifted his weight and body to a more comfortable, less intrusive position. After a few kisses he settled, shutting his eyes.

Moira relaxed. She was warm and happy and satisfied. For the first time in her life she felt loved and it was both wonderful and astonishing to her. She stared at the window, at the falling snow that lent a white gleam to the lilac curtains. She stroked John's back as he settled along her. She felt safe and that alone was a marvel, but so was the incredible sex and she stifled a giggle at her thoughts.

John softly smiled, as if he could feel her giddy emotions.

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The man held up a hand, at the same time going for his gun.

He shot once. Twice.

The bullets had no effect and as the strange assailant lunged towards him his last thought was of his own folly and the chances he had let slip through his fingers.

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John slept.

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It fed.


	6. Chapter 6

Where Angels Fear to Tread6

John had just settled down with a cup of steaming coffee in his office when the door burst open and a man entered. A blast of cold air and snow followed in his wake.

"Sheriff! There's been another!"

John scowled. He gulped the hot coffee down with quick swallows. He stood. He ran a hand through his disordered hair and pulled on his hat. He adjusted his gun belt and pulled on his long black duster. "Where?" he asked gruffly. This was not how he had intended to start the morning. He allowed himself a brief memory of how he had left Moira; naked in her bed, snuggled under the blankets and fast asleep.

"Finlay's place outsida town!"

"I know where it is," John growled.

He gestured and the man scurried out of the office. Downing the last of the coffee John followed. He paused a moment on the uneven wooden sidewalk to view the morning. The sky was clear, a breathtaking blue that stretched endlessly. The sunlight was painful on the newly fallen snow, causing the blanket of white to sparkle like diamonds. He squinted against the glare and mounted his horse. "Let's go, Jumper."

He would have to get a set of those newfangled shaded glasses one of these days.

People were milling about the town, groups whispering and muttering, huddling against the cold and the threat of a killer within their midst. John rode past them all, directing his horse out of the town and towards the outskirts where the homesteads were scattered. He realized that the Finlay place was not too far from Moira's, and he felt a dread seize him, but he knew that she was safe and secure.

Outside of the barn there was a cart and men were standing around, shaking their heads and drinking generously from bottles of whiskey. Breath from both horses and men plumed in the cold air. John gracefully dismounted and tied his horse with the others. He strode past the men and into the barn.

Carson was kneeling next to the body, tut-tutting and scraping something off the dead man's clothes. He carefully wrapped the fabric round it and stuck it into his pocket. He stood, turning to see the sheriff watching him. "Sheppard. Same as the last, I'm afraid, but this one put up a fight, at least."

John took a step. Something rolled. He looked down to see an expended bullet covered with crimson. He spied another a few inches away before the doctor carefully collected it. "The bullets went right through him?"

"So it appears."

"Without slowing him down?" John didn't wait for an answer. He stepped to the body and stared down at the man. Just like the last one he was drained dry of all bodily fluids and aged beyond his years. He was almost unrecognizable, yet the fear still shone in his blue eyes.

"It ain't Finlay." John turned to see Evan approaching, rifle in his hands. "Some drifter that sought shelter from the storm more than likely. No one's been reported missin' yet. I checked round back and if there were any tracks the new snow's concealed 'em."

"Great." John eyed the body again. "Get him loaded and into town. Doc, any theories?"

Carson shrugged. "Not yet. This is way beyond my ken, but let me check a few things with the scant evidence I've collected."

"What kind of man can be shot twice and walk away?" Evan asked.

"It ain't a man," one of the others muttered.

John turned, gaze narrowing. "I won't be hearing any of that nonsense! It is a man, and we will find him! He's more than likely holed up somewhere in one of those abandoned mines! Lewis, get a posse together! We're gonna do a search today. Lorne, get the word out."

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The stagecoach stopped abruptly, tossing its occupants forward with violence. Rodney McKay nearly ended up in the lap of a heavyset woman but caught himself before he became smothered by her ample bosom. With a muttered apology although it wasn't his fault he exited the vehicle and grabbed his bags as they were tossed down. Snow plumed around them.

Rodney sighed, adjusting his scarf against the bitter cold. He rued coming back to this God-forsaken town, if it could even be called a town. He trudged along the sidewalk, heading for the hotel. His stomach rumbled but he ignored it.

He paused as a cart rolled down the thoroughfare, wheels squeaking and spitting snow. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight. Recognizing one of the men as they jumped off the cart he quickly headed for them. Seeing a covered board bearing a body being carried he paused in alarm.

"No need to gawk," Evan said, shooing away the growing crowd that was forming.

"Excuse me. I need to speak to that man." Rodney pointed.

Evan shrugged. "Not now. He's got work to do. Hey…don't I know you?"

"Yes. I am Doctor Rodney McKay. Now, if you wouldn't mind I need to speak to that man." He pointed for emphasis.

"In fact I do mind. Just keep your pants on until he's hey!" Evan objected as Rodney pushed past him.

"Doctor Beckett! Doctor Beckett, a moment of your time!" Rodney extended his hand.

Carson turned, surprised. He stared at the city slicker bearing down on him. Ignoring the proffered hand he said, "Och…Mister McKay, is it now?"

Rodney scowled, lowering his hand. "Doctor McKay and yes."

"Fleeing the Pinkertons again, are we?"

"What? No! Of course not!" Yet Rodney couldn't help taking a surreptitious look around, causing Carson to chuckle. "I am here on a very important matter. May we discuss this inside?"

"Okay. This way, but I need to conduct this autopsy now. You can assist."

"I can?" Rodney's gulp was audible.

"Yes. You're a doctor, right?"

"Yes…no…yes…but not that kind of doctor."

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"Your fancy man's here."

Moira looked up from the school desk to see Evan in the doorway. The schoolhouse was deserted. It was a perfect time for Moira to plan out the next lessons and catch up on her own correspondence. Nervously she stood as Evan neared. His gaze moved up and down her like a hawk although she was modestly clad in black. "What fancy man?"

"You have more than one?" At her scowl Evan smiled. "That McKay fella."

"Truly? I just sent the letter requesting his aid. He must be here on another matter entirely."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Evan stopped. The desk was between them. "How long has this been goin' on?"

"We have been corresponding for a few months now, after the curious case that first brought him to town and I—"

"Not that!" Evan snapped, temper flaring. "You know what I mean."

"I don't understand the question. If you would excuse me I must see if I can find Doctor McKay. Since he is in town I am certain he will be able to aid us." She gathered up her papers and books, stashing them into her satchel, trying to ignore the blush stealing across her face. She did indeed know what he meant and was choosing to ignore it.

"You know what I mean," he repeated. "How long?"

"It's none of your business, Mister Lorne. Now if you would kindly take your leave."

Moira nearly jumped as Evan's hand slammed down on the table. "How long? How long have you been carrying on with the sheriff? Was it right after he killed your husband or a few months later? Was it while Sumner was alive? Did he know?"

"How dare you!" Moira met his gaze, brown eyes flaring with fury. "I will not deign to answer these rude inquiries, sir! Nothing I do is any of your business! You had best take your leave now and never mention this again!"

"Or what? You'll tell Sheppard? Is that it?" Evan mocked, blocking her as she tried to move around the desk and towards the door, towards escape.

"Kindly take your leave, sir! Now!" Moira tried to move past him but he blocked her again, grabbing her arm.

"How long has he been dallying with you? No wonder he's been absent from the whorehouse since he's got one of his own."

Moira tugged her arm free and slapped Evan across the face. "How dare you! You have crossed a line, Mister Lorne! Now step aside and go about your business!"

Evan scowled, working his jaw as it stung. He made to grab her when Moira swung her satchel. It thudded into his face and he swore, shoving it aside. He swung out, more of a reflex than anything and hit Moira across the face. She stumbled backwards, turning with the blow and Evan grabbed her arms behind her, shoving her down across the desk. Papers flew.

"You won't say a fucking word about this, or I will tell the town what a whore you are." His breath was hot against her skin, his body pressing uncomfortably and rudely into hers, into her skirts. He freed her and stood, adjusting his pants.

Moira straightened, gathering her papers and quickly fled the schoolroom, too shocked and dazed to say anything.

Evan's laugh chased after her.


	7. Chapter 7

Where Angels Fear to Tread7

John cursed. He cursed again and ducked low beneath the wooden beams of the abandoned mine. He glanced round, waving a kerosene lamp ahead of him like a beacon. The light did little to illuminate the gloom. "No one's been here for years," he muttered.

"Like I told ya, sheriff. No one comes up to these old mines no more, not since the silver crash." The old man snorted loudly into a handkerchief and stuffed it into his pocket. "If this thing's hidin' out it ain't here."

"This man is hiding somewhere," John countered. He refused to acknowledge the growing whispers of superstition and Indian lore. "We'll find him."

"You can't find a ghost, sheriff! Or a sprite!"

"I can find a man, however. Let's head out." John exited the mine and stood, staring round. Hills surrounded him, swathed in pine trees and snow. The wind whistled down to him. It was a hollow, lonesome sound that sent a chill up his back. He couldn't wait to get back to the cozy confines of Moira's house and the crackling fire.

He couldn't wait to get back to Moira and her sweet, soft caresses.

"Sheriff!"

John strode towards the voice, stomping snow as he went. A group of men were gathered near yet another mine opening. The stygian gloom was illumined by several torches. "You got something?"

"Yes." Evan gestured. "Someone or something's been here. Recently."

"Told ya," John boasted to the old man who merely spat into the snow. John shook his head and ventured into the mine. The drip of snowmelt was a constant sound, echoing loudly. He followed after Evan and found himself a few feet in the earth, down a winding and treacherous tunnel shored up with rotting timbers. "Fuck," he muttered.

Evan was standing near what looked to be the remains of a campsite. The litter of debris contained a sleeping cot, blankets, and the remnants of pots and pans. There were some tools but they were rusty, having been abandoned by their previous owner years ago. What was more telling was what was missing: there were no remains of food or beverages.

John squatted, examining everything carefully.

"It looks recent to me, but odd. Not like a man was here, you know," Evan said quietly. "And those stains on the blanket."

"Blood," John noted. He scratched his stubbly jaw, thinking. The remains of a fire were covered with dirt and rocks. "Only men do this," he noted. He moved to his feet, licked his lips and stared round. "If he's holed up here once he might do so again."

"You meanin' to keep a look-out here?" Evan asked.

"Yes. Let's search the rest to be sure."

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"And I told you I am not that kind of doctor!" Rodney was holding an embroidered handkerchief to his nose and mouth as he stood in the doctor's office, gazing in horror and curiosity at the body on the table. Despite being disgusted he found it fascinating, until the doctor had begun to dissect the body, that is.

Carson smiled and set down his scalpel. "And here I thought you would be of assistance. Go on, then. Wait for me in the main room. This won't take long."

"There's not much there to do, is there? I mean the poor man appears to have been fed on."

Carson stared at the other man. "He was murdered. Why do you say fed on?"

Rodney shrugged. "I don't know! Look at him! What kind of murder involves draining the body and making it age like that?"

"How did you know the body was both drained and aged? Doctor McKay?"

"I'll go wait outside! I need some fresh air." Rodney quickly exited before Carson's suspicions could go further. He stepped out of the office and breathed deeply of the cold, crisp air. Pocketing his hankie he looked round the town. Clouds were gathering on the horizon, heavy gray monsters promising the threat of more snow. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, backing up into the building as a passing carriage threw snow and ice up towards him.

"Doctor McKay!"

He turned at the female voice and watched a woman in black rapidly approaching, lifting her skirts to avoid the worse of the mud and ice and snow. He smiled, recognizing her and doffed his hat. "Mrs. Sumner." Concern crossed his face and he touched her arm. "Are you all right, Mrs. Sumner?"

Moira touched her bruised cheekbone. "I was clumsy, is all, thank you for asking. Thank goodness you have arrived so soon, Doctor McKay! I only sent my letter beseeching your aid yesterday! You must have heard about the extraordinary events plaguing our town!"

"You sent me a letter? Alas I was on the road and therefore did not receive it. So you saw the showers even out here? I was hoping to find the impact point and trace the event to the—"

"I'm sorry, what showers?" Moira asked, tilting her head in puzzlement.

"The meteor showers. The meteor showers that shot across the Western plains only days ago," Rodney explained to her continued stare. "That is why I am here."

"We saw no meteor showers. We've been blanketed with a snowstorm these past nights. So you are not here about the, the killings?"

"Of course not! I am not a lawman!" Rodney replied indignantly.

Moira smiled at his ire. "But you are a scientist."

"I think I may have found something and oh. Mrs. Sumner." Carson smiled, smoothing down his coat. "How are you this afternoon?" He frowned, seeing the bruising on her face.

"Fine, Doctor Beckett, thank you for asking. I was just going to invite Doctor McKay to my house for supper this evening where we may discuss his theories. Would you join us as well?"

"What? You were going to—" Rodney began, flustered.

"I would be delighted to attend, Mrs. Sumner. In fact that may be a more propitious place to discuss my discoveries and Doctor McKay's than the sidewalk."

"What? What discoveries?" Rodney asked.

"I will expect you around 6:00, and I shall invite the sheriff as well. Your discoveries could shed light on recent events and help him find the perpetrator of these grisly crimes. Good day to you, sirs."

"Good day to you, ma'am."

"Wait! What discoveries?" Rodney repeated, baffled.

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John stomped into his office and whirled as a group of men followed after him.

"We demand answers, sheriff! This town is no longer safe! When are you gonna catch this criminal?"

"There's some crazy old Injun out there and we needs to round 'em all up!" A chorus of assents filled the air.

"Now jes hang on a minute!" John shouted.

"It ain't no man, I tell ya! It's a creature or a ghost or a spirit!"

"It's the Devil hisself come to punish us for our sins!"

"Come to punish the sinners here in town!"

"We needs to hunt down those Injuns out yonder and stop them from their—"

"Enough!" John punctuated his word with a shot from his gun, effectively silencing the crowd as well as putting a hole into the ceiling. "No one is gonna hunt down any Indians, you hear me? We found this man's lair and we will find him soon enough! And yes, it's a man, not a ghost or a spirit or a When did go or whatever you wanna call it! Now just stay in town or stay in your homes and this will all be over soon! Go on! Clear out!"

John glowered and the townsfolk exited, muttering and crossing themselves. He sighed, setting his rifle onto the table. He looked over as Evan entered. "I'm sick of this mentality. The sooner we catch this fella the better."

"I agree, but if we don't we'll have a bigger problem."

"I know. Let's hitch up around nine or so and head out there. We're gonna catch this fella one way or another." John lifted his rifle. "And end these killings once and for all."


	8. Chapter 8

Where Angels Fear to Tread8

John entered the house. He removed his coat, stomping his boots to shake off the snow clinging to them. He removed his hat and hung it over his coat. "Moira, I can't stay too long as I got a bit of business to tend to this evenin' and I want you to go to—"

"Sheriff Sheppard, thank you for coming."

"Huh?" John turned to see Moira hastening to him. Her formal tone surprised him and he raised a brow. "Moy? What the hell is this?" He gently touched her bruised face, gaze narrowing as he became distracted by what he was seeing.

Moira felt a blush warming her skin. "Nothing, John. I was clumsy, is all. If you would join us at the—"

"Clumsy? How were you clumsy, exactly? Moira?"

"It doesn't matter, John, please. We can talk later, all right?"

"It matters to me, Moira. I…" He paused, glancing past her to see two men seated at the dining table. "What the hell is this?" he repeated quietly, meeting her gaze.

"John. I've invited Doctors McKay and Beckett to dine with us. They have some interesting theories upon which they wish to expound, and they could prove to be most relevant to your pursuit of the criminal. Please join us."

John blinked. "Okay. Wait…that fancy man's here again?" John scowled, stopping as Moira tried to pull him into the dining room. "I thought I told you I didn't need any outside help."

"You did, and I ignored you. Doctor McKay is here independently upon another matter. John! Stop being so damn stubborn!"

"I'm being stubborn? How were you clumsy, Moira? I swear to God if any man has dared to lay a hand upon you I will deal with him the same way I dealt with—"

"I was clumsy, and unless you are aiming to shoot up my desk I suggest you hush now and join our guests in civilized conversation! You may even learn a thing or two!"

John smiled at her reprimand. He followed her into the dining room and with a nod took a seat at the table. "Gentlemen."

"Ah, Sheriff Sheppard. I believe you recall Doctor McKay?"

"Yes, unfortunately," John muttered, causing Carson to smile.

"Very amusing, Mr. Sheppard. I assure you that my stay here will be as brief as possible," Rodney bristled.

"Amen to that. Ah."

Moira sighed and set the plates full of food upon the table. "Let's enjoy our meal first before we dive into any unpleasantries, shall we?"

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Evan downed another glass of whiskey and gestured for more. As he was a lawman the bartender curbed his comments and poured the amber liquid quickly. On second thought he left the bottle next to the deputy with a shrug.

Evan downed the fiery liquid and poured himself some more. He felt terrible. He couldn't believe that he had struck a woman, however inadvertently. Besides, it was her fault, attacking him in the first place and then getting in the way. He was still shocked to learn that the sheriff was courting her; more than courting her judging by what he had seen in her house.

It appeared that the sheriff was most actively fucking the schoolmarm.

He frowned and drank some more. Guilt turned to anger very, very quickly.

"Deputy Lorne…you look like a man who needs to relax, or least to slow down a pace." Elizabeth smiled at him, sliding the bottle of his reach.

He met her gaze, scowling. "And what business is it of yours?"

Elizabeth stroked his jaw. "It's my business to see what I can provide…and if you keep drinking at that pace you won't be of any use to anyone." She gestured.

Evan looked past her to see two young, comely women approaching. He slowly smiled.

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"As I was saying," Carson continued with a glance at the voluble scientist across from him, "when I compared the traces of blood I found a most curious discrepancy. The criminal's blood was not entirely human. Part of it is made of human blood cells…but the rest…I cannot identify the strange markers in it."

"Now don't you start," John said, reclining back in his chair as they group was still seated in the kitchen. "This criminal is human and not some phantom." He kept his gaze locked on Moira, watching her move about the table, trying to discern if she was hurt or injured.

"I never said he was a phantom, sheriff," Carson corrected.

"When we were tracking those meteor showers there were reports of impact, which is not uncommon but it is unusual. When we traced some of these reports we did in fact find debris, but not the common debris associated with meteor rocks. Some of it was metallic, but composed of elements that we have never seen. There was some supposition that perhaps, just perhaps it wasn't a meteor at all but something…else." Rodney paused for dramatic effect.

"One of your mythical flying machines?" Carson mocked.

"Do you think this creature could have been a denizen of one of these machines?" Moira asked, pausing as she cleared the table to view the scientist. She could feel John's eyes on her and she tried to ignore his curiosity and concern.

Rodney met her gaze. "Indeed it is possible."

"So now it's a space alien and not some when did go?" John asked.

"Wendigo, and no. Think about it, John." Moira took the seat opposite him, warming to the subject. She opened a book and displayed an illustration for the men to see. "Every legend has a kernel of truth in it somewhere. Perhaps the story of the wendigo is based on some lost species, or even perhaps upon this creature or others of its ilk."

"When you said that poor man had been fed on, instead of being murdered it got me to thinking," Carson concurred, eying the drawing. "That's exactly what happened in both cases."

"There have been two?" Rodney asked, also eying the drawing. It was a gruesome caricature of a man, tall and elongated with a gaping mouth and rows of teeth. It was a savage-looking beast that lived on human flesh and emerged in winter to stave off starvation.

"Yes, so far. On the outskirts of town but it's moving closer."

"It's a man." John sighed. He shut the book and pushed it aside with a frown. "I expect this kind of silliness from the townsfolk but not from any of you. It's a man. A flesh and blood man and I've got more than ample proof of that. What's more I am going to bring him in tonight." He stood suddenly.

Carson and Rodney eyed each other and moved to their feet. The note of dismissal was loud and clear.

"John!" Moira scolded. "We are suggesting that perhaps this man, while being of flesh and blood is possibly something else besides! You can't deny the evidence!"

"I am not denying the evidence. The evidence I saw points to a man. A man I can arrest."

"Clearly it is more than a man, John! What man can kill like this?" Moira challenged.

"I've seen men kill in ways that you wouldn't believe," John argued.

"Thank you for a lovely meal, Mrs. Sumner," Carson said with a smile before the argument could escalate.

"Yes, thank you. I hope to enjoy further conversation during my stay," Rodney agreed quickly.

"You two best be goin' back to town now, before it gets too dark," John said, as the two men moved out towards the parlor. "Hold up a moment, though." He stepped to Moira as she stood. "I want you to go with them, into town."

"What? Why?" she asked.

John stepped closer, touching her side gently. "I won't be here this evenin' and I would feel better knowing you weren't out here, all alone tonight. Take a room at the hotel."

"No. I am perfectly safe here, John. I won't—"

"You will, sweetheart, for me, please. Just stay in town this evening. If I know you are safe I won't be distracted, all right?" He kissed her lips. He ran his mouth softly along the bruise. "Is there anything I need to know about this?"

Moira swallowed. His gaze was intense, warm. His lips were soft. His stubble was scratchy and alluring. His voice was low, conveying emotion. "No," she finally answered, but she lowered her gaze and caught his arm. "I…I will go to the hotel, if that is what you think is best. Let me gather a few things. It will only take a moment." She met his gaze, kissed him. "Be careful, John. Please be careful."

"I'll be fine, Moy. It's just a man, after all."

John watched her exit the kitchen. He glanced at the book, snorted and followed after her.


	9. Chapter 9

Where Angels Fear to Tread9

"Sonuvabitch!" John stomped his boots on the sidewalk, knocking snow aside. He stared round, scowling. The night was cold, bitterly cold and a row of icicles was forming along the roof of the saloon. They glinted like silver teeth in the moonlight.

John shoved his hands into the pockets of his long black coat and strode across the thoroughfare to the hotel. "MCKAY!"

Rodney was just on his way up the stairs when the voice bellowed. He almost fell, startled but caught himself and turned to see the irate sheriff glaring round. "Sheppard?" He descended and walked over to the man clad entirely in black. "May I be of some assistance?"

John had to smile. Everyone else was cowering but not this fancy man. "Yes, you may. I can't find that scoundrel of a deputy and I need back-up so you're it. Let's go."

"What? I…excuse me, sheriff! Excuse me!" Rodney followed after the taller man. "If you are even remotely suggesting that I accompany you in the apprehension of this, this felon then you are greatly mistaken! I am not a lawman by any means! By any means!"

"Don't you want to prove your theories? There's some of that meteor rock out yonder where he's got his lair. Come on!"

"He…what? Meteor rock, you say?" Rodney paused again as he was confronted by a horse.

John had already mounted his and sat, looking down on the city man with a mixture of amusement and scorn. "Well? Don't tell me you don't know how to ride." To his astonishment Rodney smoothly mounted the dappled horse.

Rodney smiled. "First in my class in Canada. So…shall we?" Without another word he guided the animal into a brisk trot.

John laughed and followed after him.

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Evan snorted and blearily slid off the bed. The two girls were entangled, naked and asleep. He smirked, pulling on his clothes. He rubbed his eyes then abruptly swore as memory surfaced.  
"Shit!" He quickly threw some dollars onto the table, added a few more as he had inadvertently hit one of the girls and left a mark. He exited the room of the brothel.

He descended the stairs and exited the building. The cold night air hit him like a slap, sobering him up better than any cup of coffee could. The moon was a bright circle of silver in the sky, lending its opalescent beams across the quiet town. The snow sparkled vivaciously. An owl hooted. It was a mournful sound, almost accusatory.

"Sheppard!" Evan called, but he knew it was too late. The sheriff had ridden out to apprehend the criminal without him. Swearing again Evan mounted his horse after grabbing his rifle, and sped into a gallop for the dark, distant hills.

If anything happened to Sheppard it would be his fault.

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"Extraordinary!"

"Hush!"

"This is quite the specimen!" Rodney enthused quietly. He was kneeling in the snow, running his hands over a chunk of rock that was extraterrestrial. He rummaged in his case and ran an instrument over it. The needle clicked but moved only a little. "Fascinating!"

"Keep a lid on it!" John snapped. He was crouched nearby, rifle in his hands and keen gaze locked on the abandoned mine. So far the snow was untrodden. If anything was in there it had yet to come out.

Rodney frowned and put aside his scientific instruments. "Alas this is just a meteoroid fragment. I was hoping that there would be more pieces of that mysterious object in the vicinity. You know, I did find Mrs. Sumner's theories about the creature quite interesting. If what Doctor Beckett said is true we may indeed have a most unusual opportunity here to—"

"Do you ever stop talking?" John flared quietly. "Here! I trust you know how to use one of these?"

Rodney stared down at the gun thrust into his hands. "Well, um, no, actually."

"What?" It was John's turn to stare at the other man.

Rodney shrugged. "I never had the use of one, not even in competition or in sport. I am a scientist, not a marksman!"

"Great, just great. Just cover me, all right? I'm gonna get a closer look. And be quiet!"

Rodney glared but scooted up on his knees, holding the gun and watching as John stealthily made his way towards the mine opening. "I told you I wasn't a lawman," he muttered under his breath. His hands were shaking slightly as he held the gun, tracking John's motions against the darkness of the shadows. The moonlight sparkled off the snow.

John approached cautiously, rifle at the ready. He wasn't going to take any chances. Not with a man who could withstand two bullet wounds and walk away from that unscathed. Hearing a noise he froze, becoming just another shadow in the darkness.

A figure was visible at the opening of the mine. It stepped out slowly, as if disorientated. It was a man, clad in black. An unusually pale man as the moonlight hit his face and revealed ghastly pallid skin and rather angular features. It turned its head suddenly as an audible gasp hit the silent air. John knew it could only be McKay and cursed silently. He moved quickly, rifle raised and aimed.

"Hold there! You are coming with me now!"

The man smiled and moved with surprising speed towards John.

John fired. He fired again. The rifle's loud report rent the air.

The man didn't slow or stop as he plowed into John and knocked him to the ground.

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The gunshot hit the air, echoing among the hills. Evan swore and rode harder. He jerked the reins, causing the horse to almost throw him off the saddle and the bridle bit in deep. Evan leapt off the animal and grabbed his rifle.

He broke into a run towards the source of the noise.

He hoped he wasn't too late.

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"Oh my God!" Rodney flew to his feet and ran towards the two men scuffling on the ground. He fire the gun, fired again. Bullets hit the snow and the two figures. He wasn't sure which one he hit as both men were clad in black until a swear word hit the air.

"Not me, damn it!" John winced at the bite of the bullet but fought to his feet. The man was on him again. He was impossibly strong and fast, but weakening as blood was oozing from the wounds John had inflicted with his rifle. Ignoring his own pain John swung his fists.

There was a fevered gleam on the man's face and his eyes were strange, more cat-like than human. There was some kind of deformity on his palm as he lifted his hand and tried to press it to John's chest. John wrenched free as a bullet from Rodney hit the attacker, momentarily distracting him.

John whirled, lunging for his rifle. Instead of shooting he wielded the weapon like a club and whacked the man on the side of the head.

The loud crack was audible.

The man fell to the ground, writhing and growling.

"Did I get him? Did I get him?" Rodney shouted, rushing towards the two men.

"Yeah, you did…and you got me!" John snarled, touching his arm as blood oozed down his sleeve.

"I did? Oh, sorry. Sorry about that." Rodney's Canadian accent was pronounced in the cold winter air.

"Sheppard! Sheppard!" Evan ran to the scene, gun aimed at the form on the ground.

"About fucking time, Lorne! See? It's a man! Not a ghost or phantom or wendigo! Get him trussed up and we'll get him into jail!"


	10. Chapter 10

Where Angels Fear to Tread10

It was a curious site, more like a circus sideshow than a town jail. People were flocking to see the newest resident, gawking and gasping and shoving but John made sure the doors were locked and the curtains drawn over the windows. He stepped round to the jail, clasping his arm above the elbow where Rodney's bullet had penetrated.

The occupant of the jail was silent, sitting on the hard cot and staring at nothing. The wounds were still bleeding, staining his dark clothing to a rusty shade but John refused to allow Carson near the prisoner. John stood staring at this strange man, who didn't really appear to be a man but was close enough by all accounts to have justice rendered.

The gallows were always ready to be utilized.

Shackles remained on the man's ankles and handcuffs kept his wrists together in front of him. John wasn't taking any chances, not with this one. He knew how strong this man had been. His body was aching from the fight and the violence he had endured.

The prisoner had been slung over John's horse like so much baggage but had not said one word during the gallop back to town. Not one word.

"Sheppard?"

"Not now."

John's gaze narrowed. He knew the man was a stranger. There had been no identification of any kind on him. There had been no personal items at all. In fact the coat he was wearing had belonged to one of the two victims. The evidence couldn't have been more damning.

"I am going to have to insist you get that arm looked at, at least," Evan continued. "I can handle things here."

John turned. He eyed the deputy a moment, searching for any signs of lingering intoxication. He lifted his hand and it came away red. "I reckon I should. If he moves shoot him. Don't let anyone in here, not yet. You sure you got this?"

"Yes. Sorry about earlier, I…" Evan's words fell away as chagrin filled him. He shrugged.

"Don't let it happen again," John warned.

He stared a moment longer at the suspect. The man's head was bowed now. Stringy white hair was escaping the hat he wore. Bare hands ended in long, long fingers. The silence was unnerving but not as unnerving as the man's odd appearance. A sliver of moonlight penetrated the cell's one window and striped the man in eerie bars of black and white.

The shape of his head reminded John suddenly of the skull that Moira had shown him. It had been a curious fossil that was neither human nor animal, and no one could identify it.

John snatched his hat and exited the office. He shut the doors behind him and raised his hands. "Listen up! We got him! We got the man in custody and in custody he will remain for now! Go on about your business now, you hear! GO!"

The crowd dissipated, all but one woman who hastened to his side. "John! You've been wounded!" Moira cried in concern.

"By your fancy man, yeah," he said, looking round. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He's at the hotel, telling us quite the tale of your bravery! Come with me now! Carson is there as well and he can tend your—"

"No. I'd rather you tend it, Moira. I don't want a fuss, all right?"

"John! You…John, word is that this man…he's not…"

"I'll tell you later, sweetheart. Let's go."

Moira took his arm and led him to the hotel. "You must see Carson first, John, please. He is a medical doctor, after all! Then I will tend you as best I can, in my hotel room, unless you would rather return to my house, but I expect you would rather stay in town since you apprehended the suspect. John?"

John had slowed his steps as they entered the hotel. Rodney was in the center of a crowd, regaling them with the story. His hands were waving in the air with extravagant gestures but a hush fell as people caught sight of the sheriff.

Moira quickly freed his arm and moved towards Carson.

"Sheriff? You done it?"

"Yep, I done it." John concurred. "He's in custody now and will remain there pending a trial."

"No need for a trial, sheriff!"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Conners. Go back to your homes and your beds. It's safe now."

"Sheriff, this way, please. Let me take care of that wound." Carson led him towards the back of the hotel.

John followed, glancing round but Moira had disappeared. He sighed.

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Evan was sitting at the desk, legs propped up on it. He was perusing the newspaper, glancing over from time to time at the prisoner. It had been a few minutes but it felt like hours and so far he hadn't moved or spoken. Evan suppressed a yawn and tried to focus on the words on the page.

He wondered when Sheppard would be returning.

He blinked and set the paper down as the words were swimming in front of his eyes. He felt a weird pressure behind his eyes and he rubbed them, wondering if he had imbibed too much at the brothel. He blinked. He blinked again.

The prisoner smiled.

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"It's the damnedest thing, doc," John was saying as Carson extracted the bullet. Luckily it wasn't too deep but it still hurt like hell and John generously drank from the whiskey bottle. "I mean I unloaded two shots from my rifle and it barely slowed it down! Finally I had to smack its head and it went down. And it was strong, too strong and so damn fast! And between you and me it ain't…well, it ain't quite a man."

Carson murmured, dumping the bullet into a pan. He began to clean the wound. "Just as I suspected. I must see the prisoner at first light. From what Doctor McKay was saying this creature was emaciated and pale, yet able to overpower you."

"Yes…it looked weak as a kitten but it wasn't, not right away, that is. And its eyes…doc, you should see its eyes." John took another generous swig of the alcohol.

"I shall, trust me. There." Carson bound the wound tightly.

John restored his shirt and moved to his feet. He winced, flexing his arm. "Thanks, doc."

"Go get a few hours kip. You need to rest, son. I wish to confer with McKay."

"Okay, doc. I…oh." John frowned as the whiskey bottle was taken out of his hand. A pout formed on his lips.

"Room 212, upstairs. Go on."

John nodded, swaying a little on his feet. He grabbed his coat and hat. The front lobby was empty. John looked round then trudged up the stairs. He was sore, weary, slightly drunk and his arm ached. He reached room 212 and pushed open the door. He stepped inside the room as the door shut behind him.

Moira was standing near the bed, wringing her hands together. Her look of surprise was charming. Her long hair was loose, cascading around her black-clad form.

John smiled.

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The hunger was growing.

It would need to be sated soon.

It was tired. It was weak from the fight and the wounds were slow to heal. Blood was still oozing from the bullet holes along its body. Its head ached from where the tall man had hit with the gun. It flexed his hands. The chains rattled slightly as it moved.

It hated being chained or caged.

The hunger was growing, blocking all other pains and concerns with its insatiable longing.

It would have to feed.

It would have to feed soon.

It would have to feed.


	11. Chapter 11

Where Angels Fear to Tread11

John didn't say a word. He stepped to Moira and pulled her into his arms, into a lengthy kiss. He ignored the pain in his arm as more sensual concerns assailed him. He guided her gently backwards, not to the bed but to the wall where he pinned her, pressing his body to hers.

A picture on the wall began to sway back and forth, back and forth.

"John?" Moira said breathlessly, pushing at him but she couldn't move him. She stared with wide brown eyes as he smiled at her. The taste of whiskey was strong on his breath and on his lips. Passion shone in his green eyes. Moonlight striped his handsome face in light and dark.

"Moy. I want you." He kissed her again, hands running along her body, rough and rude but gentle at the same time. He cupped her breasts and tugged at the fabric encasing them. His hands slid down, fingers tangling in her skirts, lifting and searching.

Moira returned his kisses, responding to his hunger. Careful of his wound she slid her hands down, down to undo his belt buckle and his pants. "John, John, John, are you sure?" Her voice was breathless with anticipation. She knew this was wrong, very wrong, to be with this man in a public hotel room but at the same time she wanted him.

She wanted to feel his love and his protection.

He chuckled against her skin, running his mouth along her throat. He grunted as her touch aroused him, teased and tormented him. "Fuck yes," he growled as her fingers tightened, tightened over him. Her nails were an exquisite torture along the hard length of him and he felt a shiver of pure lust. She freed him suddenly.

Moira blushed at her bold, brazen behavior. She shook her head as her breath came rapidly and her body was inundated with hot sensations. "John, we cannot! Not here! Not now! John, John, we have to be more circumspect and oh!"

She gasped as his fingers skimmed along her flesh, now pulling down the fabric that separated them. He kissed her deeply as he thrust inside her, swallowing her murmur as her hands grabbed at his shirt, then his arms. He came quickly, each thrust faster and harder in time to his grunting. Moira clung to him as she was being rammed into the wall over and over.

The picture on the wall was swinging wildly now, until it abruptly crashed to the floor. Glass splintered and shattered into tiny fragments.

Moira whimpered, dizzy with the passionate possession. The climax was a flower about to bloom and she tensed as the pleasure spiraled, spiraled.

Abruptly he groaned into her mouth and freed her. He hid his face in her hair, gentling his hold on her arms. He kissed her, meeting her gaze. "Moira…"

"Let's go to bed, John."

"Did you…oh shit." He smirked, realized he had stopped before she had enjoyed him fully. "Sorry, sweetheart, let me get you—"

She smiled and led him to the bed. "You need to sleep, John. Here." She eased him onto the bed and sat close, unbuttoning his shirt. "Relax, John. It's all right." She pulled off his shirt and eased him onto his back. She frowned, running her hands gently over several bruises. She kissed him softly, soothing his aches.

John ran his fingers through her hair. "Moy…I can make it right for you. Jes give me a minute here, okay? I just—"

She touched his perfect, full lips with her finger, smiling at him. "It's all right, honey. It's always right with you and will be again. You are exhausted and sore. Just relax, John. I will take care of you." She stood and moved to yank off his boots.

John watched her, already drowsy. "I just…I…Moy…you were right. It ain't a man, not quite. It's a man…but it's not. It's odd and creepy and has this weird thing on its hand…I…" He touched his palm then let his hand fall to his side. It was hard to keep his eyes open as much as he wanted to talk with her. "It's the strangest thing I ever seen..." he muttered, voice slurring as his eyes closed.

Moira smiled and pulled off his pants. She drew the blankets over him and turned down the kerosene lamp. She undressed and got in next to him, snuggling close. "John?" She suppressed a laugh as John was already fast asleep and beginning to snore.

The fulfillment of her pleasure would have to wait, for now.

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"And you are certain of this?" Carson asked. He was seated in a hotel room with Rodney. The two men were hunched over a variety of objects, metallic in nature but oddly shaped and corroded.

"Yes. And this part…it appears to be organic."

Carson took the piece and turned it over in his hands. He nearly dropped it as what looked like a brown vine twitched. "Bloody hell! What is it?"

"I don't know. What I do know is that this is no meteoroid deposit. The chemical composition is unlike anything I have ever seen. What's more there is a debris field not far from here which is, I believe the initial crash site. From my calculations of the meteor showers the crash would have occurred a week ago."

"The first murder was almost a week ago," Carson concurred. "Except I do not think it was a murder, not in the conventional sense of the word. As you said earlier, Doctor McKay, I believe it was in fact feeding. This creature, whatever it may be seems to derive its sustenance from the life force of others. And its own blood is more than human…I've never seen anything quite like it in all my years of medical practice." The doctor's piercing blue gaze fell on Rodney. "But you have."

Rodney almost squirmed at the accusation. Denials swarmed to his lips but instead of speaking he merely nodded. "Yes. Not quite like this, but yes…years ago. The culprit was never found and it coincided with another meteoroid impact."

"Do you believe this is the same…creature?"

"I do not know. I do not believe in coincidence, only in scientific evidence and facts. Do you think you could identify the species?"

"No…that is to say I determined that half of it is not human, nor is it a mammal. If I had more extensive medical equipment I might be able to narrow down the parameters but out here—"

"That is not an option." Rodney sighed, shaking his head. "I face the same dilemma with my own experiments upon the various meteoroids and other debris. In my correspondence with Mrs. Sumner I instructed her to look out for any unusual astronomical events, but unfortunately the recent storms were a hindrance to such observations," Rodney continued. "But you have this…man in custody now," he continued, changing topics. "We must see him at once!" He leapt to his feet. "Have you attempted any sort of communication with it?"

"No. It hasn't said a word as far as I know. At least the sheriff didn't mention anything like that. Wait, Rodney!" The scientist was heading for the door, caught up in his enthusiasm. "The lateness of the hour precludes any—"

"No, Carson! We must act now! If this, this creature is in fact from the stars just think of what we could learn from it!"

"It's a killer, Rodney, not an exhibit in a zoo!"

"It's locked up, right? I shall be perfectly safe! Well, come on? What are you waiting for?"

Carson sighed and made to follow the excited scientist.

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The snoring was loud, bordering on obnoxious.

It stood, gaze full of disdain as it glared at the human fallen across the desk. It tested the strength of the iron shackles that bound its ankles and wrists. The chains rattled but the man at the desk did not stir. He just kept snoring, oblivious.

Moonlight filtered through the windows, creating a maze of dark and light, of black and silver that had the desk at its center, as if it was some maze wherein the prize was the sleeping man.

It smiled and stood.

With a sudden snap the chains fell apart and the shackles soon followed.

The iron bars of the cell were cold to the touch as it grasped them. The lock was heavy on the door, but primitive. So much was primitive on this planet, with these people. They were technologically backwards in so many ways it was pitiful.

But they were excellent sustenance despite their lack of advancement.

With a few violent exertions the door refused to budge, but the iron bars parted, parted as he pulled them slowly, so slowly away from each other.

Just a few more inches and its slim, starving body could fit through and be free.

The man slept on, oblivious and lost in sleep.

It smiled.


	12. Chapter 12

Where Angels Fear to Tread12

It was a scene of chaos.

Chairs were overturned. Papers were all over the floor. The iron bars of the cell were bent at odd angles, impossibly so. The desk was on its side, drawers smashed. Guns were scattered on the floor without being fired.

There hadn't been time.

It was a scene of horror.

Evan was struggling mightily, but his struggles were becoming weaker and weaker as the very life was being sucked out of him. He was prone on his back, shirt ripped open to bare his chest. The prisoner was hunched over him, literally drooling, long white hair a mess of tangles and grit that partially concealed its face. One hand was pressed to Evan's chest, the palm attached to his naked flesh and shaking slightly, but not with fear.

It was shaking with excitement.

Carson and Rodney had frozen in their tracks, momentarily stunned by what they were seeing. To their astonishment Evan was aging before their eyes. The once vibrant younger man was becoming older, as years turned to decades within mere seconds. Brown hair was turning gray. Blue eyes wide with fear with dimming with age and the loss of vitality. Smooth skin was becoming wrinkled.

"Stop! Stop now, you fiend!" Carson shouted, snatching a rifle from the floor and firing at the prisoner. The blast was deafening in the small building.

"Help! Help us!" Rodney called, desperately reaching for a gun, for any sort of weapon.

The prisoner lurched as the bullets slammed into it. The feeding had been interrupted and it had not taken its fill. Furious it jumped to its feet, freeing Evan. Evan fell back, gasping and moaning. It whirled and faced the two men.

A single drop of blood fell from the protrusion on its palm and hit the floor.

It attacked.

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The ruckus woke John from a sound sleep. He snorted, rolled and sat up, blearily out of sorts until his head cleared. Moira was standing by the window, clad in a sheer nightgown. She held the curtain to one side, hiding behind it as she peered outside. The moonlight bathed her form and made the gown translucent, and John was distracted as his gaze raked over the curves of her back down to her very shapely rear.

"Moy? What's all that about?" he asked, moving to his feet. He pulled on his clothing.

"I don't know. There's a crowd at the jail…John, there's a, a fight!" Gunshots erupted.

John stood close, buttoning his shirt as he stared over her shoulder. A crowd was gathering as part of the jail was on fire. Orange flames lit the night. Noises emanated as a fight was in progress and suddenly the door was flung off its hinges and into the crowd. "Shit," he commented. "What the hell is going on down there?"

"John! There are people in the jail!"

John pulled her away from the window. "You stay right here, Moira! Don't you move until I come back for you!" He kissed her and then was gone, wrapping his coat around him and yanking his gun from its holster.

He ran into the street, into a scene of chaos. "Make way! Make way!" he shouted, waving his gun. The crowd parted and John ran to the jail. Men were passing buckets in a line, trying to douse the flames that were hungrily licking at the sky and consuming the wood eagerly. It had begun to snow again and the white was blinding in the firelight.

John ducked as an explosion rent the air, as carbines were ripped apart by the heat of the flames. "Get back! Lorne! Lorne! Sonuvabitch!" John raised his arm, shielding his face and ran into the burning jail.

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It moved so fast it was a blur. Carson fired and fired but was flung across the room and fell heavily, losing hold of the rifle. Rodney grabbed a broom and swung it, smacking the prisoner across the face. The prisoner grinned at him.

"Oh crap," Rodney muttered, before he was backhanded and sent flying across the room. He hit the wall and fell to the floor. Glass shattered as a picture frame fell upon him.

The creature stalked towards Carson, finding an embarrassment of riches now to feed on and it wasn't sure where to start.

Its hand was aching with the excitement of having so many before it.

"Hold! You shall not harm that man!" Rodney had moved to his feet and was holding a gun, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

The creature smiled at him, and approached. "Is that so?" it asked.

The words startled Rodney so much he nearly dropped the gun. Instead he fired. The bullet went wide but the creature lunged for him anyway and both whirled, crashing into the desk and knocking over the kerosene lamp.

Instantly the flames greedily caught the piles of fallen paper and a fire began. Fueled by the spilled kerosene the flames ran along the floor and up the wall, devouring the wood and everything in its path.

As Rodney fought for his life Carson groggily moved to his feet. Blood was pouring down one side of his face but it wiped it aside to see the danger. "Fire! Rodney, let it be!"

"I would love to let it be!" Rodney rejoined, grappling as he fell to the floor.

The creature was upon him when an explosion ripped through the building and the door flew off its hinges and away from the jail.

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"Git clear! Git outta here now!" John bellowed, charging into the office and firing. He had a handgun in one hand, a rifle in the other and unloaded both at the prisoner as it attacked Rodney. Rodney yelped, and rolled out of the way as the creature staggered and fell off him but sprang to its feet.

John advanced, firing the guns and trying to see past the smoke that was a haze in the hot air. The creature whirled and ran towards the back. John swore and followed, yanking up his kerchief over his nose and mouth to block the increasing smoke.

Carson ran to Rodney, and then the two men ran to help Evan to his feet. The three staggered out of the office and were aided by the townsfolk. A cry erupted as the flames consumed one wall and it collapsed in a spray of sparks against the snow.

The chain of buckets was slowly working, however, and between the water and the increasing snowfall the fire spent itself and was losing its enthusiasm. Black smoke spiraled in the sky. It looked like a snake against the snowfall as the moon was doused in clouds and no longer visible.

Carson was coughing and he shook his head at the proffered cup of water. "We need to get them to my office, now!"

"You need to get there yourself, doc," one commented.

"I'm fine!" Carson watched as Evan and Rodney were helped across the street. Rodney was able to walk but he was complaining loudly. Evan was barely able to move on his own and the men resorted to carrying him, two at his shoulders and two at his feet, much like a corpse was carried. Carson shuddered at the comparison but feared it was more than accurate. From what he had seen the deputy was not long for this world.

Carson sighed, and wiped the blood off his face. It was eerily quiet now. Only the crackling of the dying flames and the sloshing of the water buckets could be heard.

There were no more gunshots.

There was no shouting or yelling.

Of the sheriff and the prisoner there was no sign.

No sign at all.

It was as if the snowstorm had swallowed them whole.


	13. Chapter 13

Where Angels Fear to Tread13

John groaned. He groaned again. He opened his eyes to see snowfall against the night. He was lying on the hard ground, on his back and something was stinging on his chest. He touched his chest, startled to see that his shirt was ripped open. His skin felt taut, sore, but there was no blood. He tried to sit but dizziness assailed him and he grunted.

His rifle was gripped tightly in his other hand.

He sat abruptly, remembering chasing the prisoner into the night, away from the town.

He remembered the prisoner whirling and attacking.

He remembered the creature overpowering him and squatting over him. It had ripped his shirt and extended one hand, one bare palm from which a horrid-looking protrusion extended and had attached itself to his chest. There was a surge of stinging pain and exhilaration and John had used the sudden energy to shove the thing off him but then…

Something had scared it away. It had hissed like a wildcat and looked round, then bolted into the night, into the snow and was gone.

"Sheriff! Sheriff Sheppard!"

The voices sounded far away. A coyote howled and John felt a shiver course along his skin. He touched his face, looked at his hand but he hadn't aged at all, not as far as he could see. In fact he felt vibrant, vital, even with the stinging wound and a headache. He moved to his feet and lifted his gun, hearing the townsfolk.

Quickly he buttoned his shirt as best he could, and wrapped his coat around him. He pulled his hat down low and kept his kerchief up over his chin. He gestured with his rifle as a group of men approached. "He's gone! He's gone into the storm! We'll track him as soon as we can! Let's all get back to town now!"

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Moira was shaking her head, sitting in the doctor's front office. Tendrils of her hair were escaping the braid that trapped most of her long hair. She was clad in black, as always, holding a white cloth to Rodney's forehead. "You were very brave, Doctor McKay. It's a wonder you were not injured worse."

"I know!" the scientist agreed, groaning with the aches and pains of his violent adventure. "I only fear what may have happened if Doctor Beckett had not come to my aid sooner!" He glanced over at the doctor who was quietly talking to an older woman who abruptly broke into sobs and fled the room. "Is he…is he all right?"

"Doctor Beckett was cut across the face but he is fine now. The blood made the injury appear far worse than it was." Moira glanced at the doctor as he was staring at nothing, lost in thought. A bandage encompassed one side of his face.

"No, I meant the deputy. I mean of course I am concerned about Beckett and relieved that he is well, but I was asking after Lorne. And where is Sheppard? Does he even know what he is up against?" Rodney made to move to his feet but Moira gently eased him back onto the settee.

"I know." John entered the medical office and paused. Everyone was staring at him, relief on their faces, and concern, but no undue reactions. Moira's eyes were full of warmth and worry and she moved to her feet.

"Sheriff, are you all right?" Carson asked, moving to him.

"Yeah. Jes some scrapes and aches, is all. Damn thing lit outta town so fast I couldn't stop it, and with this storm it will be fucking hard to track. Oh, I do apologize," he said with a smile, tipping his hat towards Moira. His mood sobered and he eyed the doctor. "Lorne."

Carson didn't have to say a thing. The sorrow in his blue eyes was enough. He shook his head, sighed. "There's nothing I can do, John. He's—"

"Let me see him."

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Let me see him, Carson."

Carson nodded at last. "Just be prepared. He's aged by, by decades and his internal organs are failing. I've made him as comfortable as I can but there's nothing else I can do."

"I understand." John glanced at Moira. She hadn't moved and was staring at the floor, quiet and calm. He eyed Rodney who appeared despondent. He eyed Carson and stepped to the back rooms to see his deputy.

The man was almost unrecognizable. Bandages swathed his chest but a viscous stain was leaking through them. The man was older, with dry, wrinkled skin and gray hair. Pain was etched in every line on his face. His lips were dry and he was gasping with each breath that left his sunken form. The blue eyes were filmed over but alert.

John touched his chest but let his hand drop away. He lowered his kerchief and glanced at himself in the mirror. His face appeared the same to him; no years had been stolen. In fact he looked a little younger. He shrugged and stood by the bed, staring down at the man who had been younger than he was but now was far, far older. "Lorne." John cleared his throat as an excess of emotion caught him.

Evan turned his head slightly and stared. "Sheppard." His voice was a whisper, an old man's voice and John leaned down to hear him better. "Got out…it got…"

"I know. We're gonna kill it, don't worry now. You just rest and get better, you hear?"

"Send…send Moira…see…I want to see…" He lifted his hand. It shook and he lowered it. A single tear fell from one eye.

"Okay, I'll git her. Just rest, Lorne. You done good. I…I'm sorry…I…" John spun on his heels and exited, unable to say more. Guilt hung upon him like a shroud.

He entered the office after a moment. "Moira."

Moira whirled, startled by both his use of her first name in a public setting and the tone. His voice was gruff, heavy with emotion. "John?"

"He wants to see you." John gestured behind him. He moved forward into the room. "Doc, you done your best. Make him as comfortable as you can. Doctor McKay, you'll be staying in town a few more days?"

"Yes, to recover and collect what specimens I can," Rodney said, moving to his feet. "I am sorry about Mr. Lorne, sheriff. He seemed to be a fine man."

"He is a fine man. I think it best if you kept to town for a few…Moira? He wants to see you," John interrupted himself, seeing Moira hadn't moved. She was just standing there, wringing her hands together and staring at the wall.

"No."

John exchanged a puzzled look with Carson at her terse answer. "Excuse me?"

"I do not wish to see him."

"You do not wish…he wants to see you!" John flared, reaching out to grab her arm but she stepped away from him, turned away from him.

"Sheriff, we've all had a very long night. Why don't you escort Mrs. Sumner home before the storm gets worse. There's nothing you can do here. I will look after Doctor McKay."

"I don't need looking after! I need to…oh, perhaps I do." A wave of dizziness sent the scientist back to the settee.

John considered. He looked at Moira. She was silent, fastening her bonnet and wrapping her cloak around her. She appeared unhappy, about to cry and John's mind worked over her reactions. He nodded. "All right. Good evenin' to ya. Ma'am." John gently took her arm. She almost flinched. He frowned and guided her out of the office.

"Moy, you wanna explain what the hell that was about?"

"No. If you don't mind, Mr. Sheppard, I will kindly make my own way home." She disengaged her arm from him and began to walk away, a dark figure against the snowfall.

"What? Moira! Moira, hold up!" John strode to her and walked beside her, baffled. "I am gonna take you home now. You think I'd let you ride out that far alone in this? I'll get us a carriage, just wait for me here."

"I…I'm sorry, John. You must be exhausted and upset and you…" She stared at him, frowning.

John wondered what she saw. He shook his head. "I'm fine. Wait here for me."


	14. Chapter 14

Where Angels Fear to Tread14

Moira had had enough. She grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her. She yanked the hood over her head and exited her house. It was still snowing, not as heavily as before but the blanket of white extended from the sky to the land to the horizon. It was a cold, brisk afternoon turning darker as the unseen sun was setting low behind the mountains.

She made her way to the side of the house, tramping through the snow. The sound of an ax hitting wood rang in the cold air, over and over and over like some methodical drum. She paused in the shadows.

John was chopping wood. He did not have his coat on; it lay to one side, ignored. The sleeves of his red flannel shirt were rolled up to his elbows. He was wearing his hat. He swung the ax effortlessly, strong muscles moving in tandem under his shirt, strong legs braced for each blow of the metal as it split the wood. He paused only to wipe his brow with his kerchief.

"John? John!"

Ignoring her John plied the ax again, splitting a log and hewing it in two. He let the pieces fall to either side of the wooden stand. With a grunt hefted another log onto it. He swung the ax again and the metal bit deeply into the wood. Chips flew in every direction, a brown spray on the white snow.

"John! John, that's enough!" Moira caught his arm, halting him.

John met her gaze. He frowned, expression surly, green eyes narrowed. "You're gonna need wood for the winter, Moira. It's gonna be a bad one."

"I know, but you've done enough. Look." She pointed.

He followed her finger and stared. There was a large pile of logs against the wall. He hadn't realized he had done so many; in fact he wasn't even that sore or tired. Now that he had stopped he could feel his muscles protesting and the sweat trickling along his skin. "Oh."

"John, please come inside before you take a chill," Moira suggested gently. She tugged at his arm. "We have more than enough now. Please, John. I will run a bath for you, all right?"

John met her gaze, saw her worry. He nodded. He swung the ax and left it embedded in a log. Wordlessly he followed her into the house, snatching his coat off the ground. Moira softly kissed his cheek, then left to get the bath ready for him. John stood at the kitchen table, at a loss for words. He grabbed a flask of whiskey that he had in his pocket and downed the contents with quick swallows. Words and emotions tangled on his tongue.

He licked his lips and strolled into the bedroom. There was a big metal tub there and Moira was filling it with hot water. Steam filled the air. The tub was nearly full and he realized she had been doing this for some time. "Moira, I…"

"Get undressed and into this while it is hot, John. I will scrub your back." She set the empty bucket down and turned away to secure a brush and some soap.

John smirked as lewd ideas filled his mind, but with a sigh he undressed and stepped into the tub. He groaned with enjoyment as the water was warm and soothing. He sat, stretching out his long legs and settled back against the wet surface. "Fuck that feels so good," he muttered, closing his eyes for a moment. The faint scent of lavender tickled his nose.

"Language, sir," Moira softly remonstrated in his ear. She kissed his ear. "Lean forward." He did so. Moira ran the brush over his back roughly.

"Ah fuck," John muttered, moving.

"John, behave now," Moira said with a laugh. She ran her hands over him, sluicing the water to rinse off the suds. She moved round on her knees to touch his chest. "John?" She gently touched a red mark near his heart.

John licked his lips, eyes on her as she examined the wound. "That's where it, it got me. It had me pinned down and there was this, this thing protruding from the palm of its hand, Moira. And I could feel this weird rush of, of something, before the pain. Before it could drain me I used that, that rush to knock it aside and then something scared if off. That's how, how Lorne got hurt, isn't it? It fed off him, like it tried to feed off me. I…it's my fault, Moira."

She met his troubled gaze, gently stroking his chest around the wound. "How is it your fault, John?"

He lowered his gaze. "I done wrong, Moira. I mean I should never have left Lorne alone with it." Long eyelashes swept down, concealing his gaze from her.

"How were you to know it could escape, John? You had it chained and shackled and in a cell," she argued.

"True, but I should have been there instead of cavorting with you. I mean," he raised his eyes to her, "I neglected my duty and I should have been there instead of—"

"You were injured, exhausted and had to have a few hours to heal, John! Besides, if you had been there it would have been you who had been fed upon! It would have been you lying in that doctor's bed wasting away and, and, and dying…" She felt a rush of tears. "I couldn't bear that, John, I couldn't bear it…"

John touched her face. He ran his wet thumb over the bruises. "Lorne did this to you, didn't he?"

She was silent, unable to meet his gaze.

"You shoulda told me, Moy."

"I…I couldn't."

"Why ever not?"

"Because, because, I was afraid…"

"Afraid of what?" he asked.

"Afraid, that, that like most men you would, would blame me…and he was your friend." Her words were soft, so soft as she stared down at nothing. Tears welled in her brown eyes. His caress was so tender, so gentle and warm.

She had nothing to fear from this man, did she?

John lifted her face to meet his gaze. "I would never blame you, sweetheart. And no. No friend of mine would ever lay a hand upon a woman. Especially not the woman I love."

"I wasn't sure you would believe me and then the…what?" Her eyes widened.

He smiled slowly and drew her closer to kiss her. It was a long, savoring kiss that took full possession of her mouth. His fingers slid up to run along her arms, to pull her closer, closer. "Moira," he said, voice low and intimate.

With a splash he pulled her into the water.

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Moira was drowning.

She was drowning in sensual ecstasy as John's hands were all over her body, removing her wet clothes as they laughed and got out of the tub. His mouth traversed her body, traveling over wet skin and sucking at her earlobe and throat, nibbling at her breasts and pelvis and moving between her legs to make her squirm and plead and whimper wildly.

The bed was rocking noisily as he made damn sure she came this time, and he poured his passion into her, seemingly inexhaustible. Moira's nails raked along his back, then his chest as she rode him. He gripped her hips and watched her, a smile on his handsome face.

The afternoon slid into the night amid the repeated throes of sexual intimacy until at last they fell into a deeply satisfied slumber.

John was the first to awaken. He reluctantly slid free from Moira's embrace. He sat, looking round the room as if memorize it. He looked at Moira for a long moment. He slid out of the bed and quietly went about his business.

The air was cold but at least it had stopped snowing. John stood outside the house, securing his bedroll and then his rifle to his saddle. He patted the brown horse. "Easy, Jumper. We'll be on our way and after that bastard soon enough." He looked towards the horizon. An orange sun was rising over the distant mountains, turning the fallen snow to a pinkish shade.

"John! John, wait! Where are you going?" Moira rushed to him. She was hastily clad in a pale gray blouse and skirt. Her loose hair billowed around her. She grabbed his arm.

John turned to her, adjusting the hat on his head. "I gotta go after it, Moy."

"What? Now? Alone?"

"Yep."

"No! John, you can't go now and you, you certainly can't go alone! John, please don't go!" She clung to his arm, brown eyes tearful as fear assailed her.

"I got to, Moira. I need to hunt that thing down before it kills again. Don't you worry now, sweetheart. If the storms get bad get to town, all right? I need to keep you safe, Moira. I need to keep us safe, and this is the only way. Don't you fret now."

"John! John, please don't go! Please don't go!" she pleaded, but he ignored her. He kissed her and swung up into the saddle. "John, please! I…I love you!"

John smiled. He touched the brim of his hat.

He clicked his teeth together and the horse turned.

He rode away from Moira.

He rode away from the house.

He rode into the sunrise.


End file.
